


Rot

by Heza



Series: Red vs Blue Drabbles [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Description of rotting bodies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 09:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heza/pseuds/Heza
Summary: Locus remembers what it was like to be trapped surrounded by rotting bodies.





	Rot

**Author's Note:**

> Was going through my writing folder and I found some fic, including this one, that I never posted, or maybe only posted to tumblr?  
> This is set during the end of season 15, in the Murder Fridge. Enjoy!

When the smell hit him, the memory flash it conjured was so strong that his footing faltered and he was brought to a halt. He saw bodies all around him, many human, many alien. They don’t know when they’re going to get off this hell hole of a planet. The bodies were left to bake in the sun and the smell of rot and decay was enough to make anyone choke and throw up. Alien, human, it didn’t matter, the smell was the same. His helmet did little to filter it out, but he still refused to remove it as the smell was so much worse without it, and his stomach was already churning at the site of particularly mangled body with flies buzzing around it. Why hadn’t they been picked up yet? The Covenant had already left this planet, the fighting had stopped, yet still his squad and others were _still_ down here, still forced to sit among the rot and the decay and the smell and Felix had already taunted him for being sick despite throwing up twice himself and _why were they still here_ -

‘ _Stop it’_ Locus forced open his eyes, the sites of the battlefield fading, his chest loosening as he remembered to breathe. He was in a lower level of an underwater base, standing just before the doorway of a circular room, not back in the Great War. He steadied his feet, took a breath, and walked in. 

The sight of a clean room with clean power armour on display so sharply contrasted the smell that for a moment Locus wondered if he was still disassociating in some way. But no, there, there was Agents Washington and Carolina’s armour! So where were the Agents themselves? Locus hadn’t seen them in the cells on the security feed…

“Wash- Wash?!” 

Agent Carolina. The armour wasn’t on display- she was still inside it. Which meant Wash was too. They looked ready to fight, but were unable to move?

‘ _Armour lock.’_ Locus realized. Then he glanced at the other suits of power armour, all in similar poses of attack. In that moment, he realized what the smell was.

On some level, he realized he had no right to be horrified. He committed many atrocious acts, killed so many just by his own hands let alone the thousands more he killed via orders. This was a room with a dozen or so people, a minuscule fraction of the number of people he had killed. He had seen death before. He had no right to be horrified.

That didn’t stop the ringing in his ears as his heart gave a rather painful _thud_. Even at his worst, Locus had never liked dragging out someone’s death- not that that redeemed him in anyway- and had constantly argued with Felix over the correct way to deal with enemies. The idea of be stuck in your armour, the very thing that was supposed to keep you safe and alive, chilled his entire being right to the core. He could only imagine the panic, the fear, and the hopelessness of those within as they slowly died of dehydration. He wondered which of the captors was sick enough to come up with-

“Just… a little rest…” The voice of Agent Washington snapped him from his thoughts once more and reminded him of what he was here to do, and who he was. 

“You don’t get to rest Agent Washington. Not yet,” he said as he stepped forward and dropped his camo, revealing himself to trapped Freelancers.

He was Locus, a mercenary set out to fix the wrongs he had committed before he would submit himself to his fate.

He was Samuel Ortez, the man who had no right to be horrified or offended by the atrocities committed by others.


End file.
